


Sergal's Prey

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Beating, Blood, Bone Breaking, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: A wayward raccoon finds himself at the worst end of a sergal's temper on the subway.A commission for someone on furaffinity.
Kudos: 1





	Sergal's Prey

The raccoon had known that there would be trouble from the moment that the sergal had stepped onto the subway car. He was the larger type of guy, with shoulders broader than the raccoon could consider himself wide, and though the raccoon didn’t recognize him personally, he could recognize the way that the sergal walked. He had a chip on his shoulder, and aggression in his stance, and he seemed to have little regard for anyone that he pushed past or through on the car as his sharp gaze roamed the crowds of other riders with a malicious intent behind it.   
  
When his start stare settled on the raccoon, the smaller male knew immediately that he was in danger, a cold chill running down his spine as the sergal’s fangs all flashed in a wide, spreading grin. Immediately, the sergal advanced towards him, and with fear prickling the fur at the back of the raccoon’s neck up, the smaller guy moved to stand to hopefully put some distance between them by moving further down the trolley cart. The idea had had the best intentions behind it—but it also doomed him, given that he immediately drew the sergal’s attention in full fashion, with the larger male moving quickly behind him.   
  
The raccoon flinched noticeably when he felt a large hand press down on his shoulder with such force that it made his knees buckle where he stood. “Where the fuck are you going?” The sergal growled softly in his ear, his eyes alight with malice as a bitter grin crossed his features. The raccoon nearly trembled under his grasp, stuck in place as claws dug against his shoulder and left him half-shaking in the terror of whatever the other might have planned. He opened his mouth, as if to answer, but every time he made a noise his heart threatened to leap into his chest with how heavily it was pounding.   
  
“I.. I was just getting up to give you a seat,” the raccoon attempted once he found his voice, and all he could see was the sergal’s fangs flash in anger. Apparently daring to talk back to the other man was enough to infuriate him, and though the sergal had no real reason to rally against him, it gave him precisely a reason to instigate a ‘real’ fight. He would have found any reason regardless, but the fact that the raccoon had answered him at all was enough to truly provoke him.   
  
“Did I _ask_ you for a seat? No! Now you’re up and in my _damn_ way!” The sergal snapped, reaching forward to grasp the side of the raccoon’s head, giving it a sudden shove to the side to forcibly slam the side of the raccoon’s head into one of the hand rails of one of the seats, making the raccoon’s head bounce off of it like a basketball, making the world flash into a pain of white from the impact of the cold metal on the side of his temple. It was almost enough to knock him out, but the sergal wouldn’t let things happen that easily. He wanted to work off some stream, and he wanted the raccoon to be awake for every second of it, so he could relish in his pain. There was no use in letting him go unconscious when it wouldn’t be nearly as fun to beat a victim who couldn’t scream.   
  
Dazed, the raccoon staggered, nearly losing the balance that was already so uncertain with the force of the sergal’s push. Rather than give him any time to recover, the sergal pulled back to deliver a hard punch to the corner of his jaw, taking him unawares further as pain flashed through him, stunning him out of his efforts to escape and making the inside of his cheek scrape against his own teeth. Instantly his mouth flooded with blood, the ripped skin on the inside of his mouth flaying painfully as he spat blood just as soon as it began to fill his mouth. The sergal took this as a chance to show his fury more quickly, snarling as his teeth bared in the raccoon’s direction.   
  
“What, now you’re spitting at me too, you punk?” He demanded, grabbing a fistful of the fur at the front of the raccoon’s chest to hoist him up from where he’d been starting to hunch over, barely able to support himself from the pain coursing through his senses at the moment. “You _spat_ at me!” He repeated, louder, starting to gather more attention in the train car. Immediately there was a general disdain and disgust written across some of the expressions of the other passengers, clearly thinking that the raccoon had started a fight that he wasn’t about to do well in. With the pain in his mouth from the cuts on the inside of his cheek, it was hard to babble back a weak protest through the veil of blood that stopped so many of his words, and at best he lifted his arms meekly to try and defend himself from the sergal’s furious onslaught.   
  
“P-please,” he manged to rasp in a small, hesitant desperation, flinching as he nearly curled in on himself from where the sergal was holding him in the standing position. As much as he wanted to push away, he knew at this point that that would only bring down more furious violence on him. “I’m sorry, please, just let me go-” His words were sputtered on blood, though the sergal had paused for only a few seconds in his onslaught to enjoy the sound of the raccoon begging in the wake of the pain. The fact that he didn’t seem to apologize for any of the imagined slights in particular, though, seemed to only set the sergal off more as he tossed the raccoon to the ground in wordless anger, pulling back to land a kick so hard against the raccoon’s ribs that the smaller man could swear that he immediately felt one of his ribs crack, and according to the vivid flash of pain that echoed through his chest when he took his next breath, it likely had been broken entirely.   
  
He reached a hand out, as if grasping along the ground would get him any further away from the infuriated sergal than trying to outright run had. He turned his head desperately to the people still riding the subway, crying out as he tried to get the attention of anyone that might come to his assistance. “Someone _help_ me!” He cried, looking to the other riders, though all he saw looking back were faces that seemed to be doing their best to avoid paying any attention to him, lest they draw the sergal’s wrath themselves, expressions that signified that they simply didn’t _care_ about the torture that he would face, or small, more sneaky looks with an uncomfortable gleam in their eyes. With growing apprehension, he could see the corners of their lips starting to lift just a bit.   
  
There was part of the group that was genuinely _enjoying_ the sight of his thrashing, they were viewing his suffering as a prime source of front-seat entertainment.   
  
“Help me please, he’s going to k-” He tried again, trying to scream down the end of the subway car to hope there was a police officer, or anyone further down that would be brave enough to stand up to his tormentor. Though he grasped out, there was very clearly no chance of anyone stepping in. Cowardice or not, he was left facing the sergal on his own—and they both knew it.   
  
“Shut up! Listen to you, bothering _everyone_ in the subway car now. I’m going to teach you how to be _nice_ -” Here, he stepped forward, pressing his boot hard down on the raccoon’s arm, pinning his outstretched limb hard enough to make the smaller male yelp in discomfort, squirming in pain under the pressure of his pinched fur and flesh against the subway car flooring. “And _quiet.”_ The sergal reached down, grasping the raccoon’s little pinkie finger. From how his arm had been stretched in front of himself, it gave the smaller male the perfect view of the sergal’s muscular fingers grasping the singular digit—before snapping it outwards at an odd angle to the side. The crack of muscle and bone felt like a shock through his whole body before he could actually hear it, but the worst part of it was seeing his finger, formerly aligned with the rest of his fingers, now sticking out directly to the left of his hand, like a warped sort of double-joined thumb that pointed in the opposite direction. The raccoon’s scream echoed in pure pain now rather than just begging for help, and as much as his body flailed behind where the sergal was pinning his arm down to the floor, nothing freed him from how the sergal had made sure his arm wasn’t going anywhere.   
  
He flailed on the ground, feeling the dirt of the bottom of the subway car scrubbing against his fur. Normally he wouldn’t have been caught dead on the ground of a dirty subway, but judging from the force against his arm and how desperately his body thrashed, he wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” the sergal snapped, grasping the back of his head to lift it a few inches off of the subway ground, only to slam it back down again. “You’re bothering everyone here in the subway car! I’m just trying to teach you some _manners!_ If you didn’t learn the first time, I’m gonna have to keep going!”  
  
Barely comprehending those words against the pounding of his head in the new ache from the second slam of his face against hard metal, he got the message the minute he looked out to see (and feel) the sensation of the sergal’s fingers wrapping around his ring finger this time. It looked as if the life had left the raccoon’s eyes with the amount of dread that crossed his expression, blood pouring from his mouth as he opened it to beg for mercy. In the second bounce of his head off of the hard surface of the floor, he’d shredded another good portion of the inside of his mouth with his front teeth, and trying to plead only wound up pouring blood from his parted lips onto the cold metal beneath him, silencing his efforts and drawing a disgusted snarl from the sergal once more at the mess the raccoon was making. His punishment was silent this time, because the sergal had been performative enough in making sure that no one else in the car would want to step in to help him, and the sergal wanted to distinctly enjoy the screams that were to follow without having to attempt to shout over them. The next finger break was bent backwards instead of to the side, sending his fingers going in several different directions with how the others were desperately curling away from their broken counterparts, instinctively trying to avoid the sergal’s grasp while struggling to move at all from the intense pain of their snapped fellows. Rather than give a break between the ring and the middle finger, though, the sergal continued down the line and seized the middle finger so quickly that it was easy for the pain-dazed raccoon to miss.  
  
Instead of breaking it in a direction, though, he pulled with a painful twist outwards, not only disconnecting the finger’s joint at the knuckle, but grotesquely warping the finger to face the wrong way on the hand. The raccoon screamed again at this, his eyes rolling upwards desperately in his head as he nearly convulsed from the pain that shot up his arm, with the sergal’s boot cutting off his circulation doing very little to stop it. The raccoon’s tongue was visible now as he panted for air, the pain sending him on the border of blacking out, though every time it looked like he would the sergal would grind his boot down just to drag him out of the edges of unconsciousness with about of pain that wasn’t intense enough to rival that of the his broken fingers, but was sharp enough to draw the rest of his consciousness back into focus.   
  
It was just in time for him to see the sergal reach forward and grasp his pointer finger, snapping it in a sharp, 90 degree angle just as he had his pinkie finger, and all the raccoon could do was sob into the floor in a growing puddle of his own saliva, tears, and blood. To finish off the raccoon’s now mangled, all but destroyed hand, the sergal finally let himself be distracted from his ruined limb and move on to torturing him in other ways.   
  
As the raccoon nearly rolled over onto his side, the sergal pressed his foot hard down on the spot between the raccoon’s shoulder blades, pushing his weight down and making the raccoon gasp and splutter another little gush of blood from his mouth to the ground below, and the feeling of the broken rib in his chest slicing against the tender flesh of his insides made it even harder for him to draw in air afterwards. Thinking that the sergal was hopefully just proclaiming whatever sense of victory he might want to draw out of the situation, the raccoon waited in a daze for the more scathing words of humiliation to come, his prone form twitching under the stronger male, though the sergal was far from done.   
  
“Looks like you have a pretty nice tail for someone so pathetic. Isn’t this what you raccoon's pride yourself on?” The sergal sneered, looking down to the soft plush of the raccoon’s furred tail. He reached down, snatching a fistful of the fur before he found the length of actual tail underneath it. The raccoon could barely acknowledge the pressure under his tail, confused at the sudden attention away from the shattered remains of his hand. The sergal was right; even though he was small and generally helpless otherwise, he had always had a certain amount of pride invested into his tail. It was thick and fluffy and he took care to brush it every day—and he could feel the sergal's fingers wrapping around the meat and bone of it through his fur, grasping it firmly.   
  
“Ggh-” The raccoon started, his head swaying back and forth as he tried to lift it to get an idea of what was going on behind him, though the minute he got his head up, the sergal reached down, grasping the tip of the tail and pressing his knuckles together and bending the raccoon’s tail into a sharp L shape, snapping the ligaments and small vertebrae into the desired angle—and tearing skin at that bend as well. Pain shot up the raccoon’s spine immediately, the now-permanent kink and break in his tail shooting up his central nervous system in a way that made his entire body convulse straight once—though the sergal eyed how the base of his tail seemed to flick quickly back and forth still, and deciding that leaving him with that much range of movement would be far too generous, his grip moved up further towards the base of his tail. Any little jostle caused another spike of pain, given that any movement made the grind of vertebra against one another sing out through his bones in a motion of agony, though the sergal made sure to get a firm grasp as close to where the tail protruded just above his bottom as possible.   
  
Any attempt to plead was stifled by the blood in his mouth and the pain that reduced the rest of his noises to little more than desperate whine. His head was swimming in the pain that echoed throughout his body, but he wasn’t able to pick up the realization that the sergal was still going. With how thin his tail was at the base, it was possible for him to grasp it firmly with both hands in the same spot. With his foot still planted in the center of the raccoon's back, he started to pull hard at the base of the tail. Immediately there was a painfully loud crack as the vertebra started to disconnect from one another, popping as the sinew and muscle that connected them started to become forcibly pulled apart.   
  
The harder the sergal tugged, the more the entire back half of the raccoon started to lift in the motion of his hard pulling, and then the skin started to draw taut as well. His in-tact hand started to grasp at the ground to try and pull himself forward or give himself some kind of bracing to push up into the touch so the resistance would cease, though he was stopped when the crack of part his spine, at the base of his bottom and his tail, echoed out loudly enough to the raccoon to hear as part of his tail broke backwards, bending upwards in a sharp angle that it was never supposed to reach. There was another rip of skin as his tail pulled upwards and away, a gush of blood sliding up his spine from where his entire body felt like it was bending backwards in half, but the next crack sent a surge so painful up through his spine that his eyes rolled again—and this time, his wiggling and desperate, squirming gasps ceased as he fell into unconsciousness.  
  
Almost disappointed, the sergal straightened himself up, spitting down on the raccoon’s back in fur that was already starting to soak through with blood from the rips around his pulled tail. Leaving him bruised, battered, and partially bleeding out, the sergal stepped off of the subway car and continued on his way as if he’d never laid a hand on anyone—and the rest of the subway car’s residents were just as content to leave the raccoon there on the floor as well


End file.
